Hundredth Hour
by Vanessa S. Quest
Summary: Slight AU Redo of episode 100, H/R pre-slash. For westenflu87, this was done in answer to a prompt from IKY'dU Forum. Please R & R!
1. Chapter 1

Hundredth Hour  
by Vanessa S. Quest

Hi All, this is an AU version of the Episode 100, this is in regards to a challenge by westenflus87 from the IKY'dU Forum.

Aaron Hotchner had lived through man than his fair share of bad days in his life. This, however, was not a bad day. This was not even a week from hell, no what this was… these last few months deprived of his family had been torture. He had become a POW to a madman, the only saving graces to his own sanity were his team-members. For Pete's Sake in the last year he had lost his family not once but twice!

The divorce had been bad, true it had been handled amicably, but it was still a miserable memory… and then the devil came to his door and took him to hell in a hand-basket. Nine times, Hotch had been stabbed nine times by that son of a bitch and once more when Haley and Jack had to be whisked away into protective detail. Yet all that now, he wished he could take that pain instead.

_Because that would be easier_, he thought bitterly to himself as his car sped through DC traffic. Hearing Haley's voice, brimming with fear and almost an accusation as she learned of Foyet's 'deal' that would have made all of this nightmare not exist. Hotch clutched the phone tightly, "Haley, let me talk to Jack…"

She was crying, silently, bravely holding it in as much as she could, but Hotch wasn't so disaffected of a human being to not be able to tell. No, _Foyet_ was the disaffected human being, standing in a room with her and his _son_ playing some farce of empathy like it was anyone else's damn fault that he got his jollies killing people and that the BAU had to intervene. For a moment Hotch damned that dead cop who brought this storm upon him, but that rage was quickly redirected at Foyet as he heard Jack's sweet, innocent and young voice.

"Daddy!"

Hotch was almost in tears himself as he tried to give Jack enough of a warning to get him to safety. Sure the boy didn't realize he was in danger, or that it was the last time he'd ever see his mother again alive, but Hotch knew the alternative wouldn't have been effective. No, a distraught 4 year old would not lead Hotch to his home to find him alive. "Jack, I need you to work the case with me, buddy. Can you do that for daddy?"

When Haley was back on the phone and Jack was scampering off, all he could think about was his physical need for traffic to vanish for the next thirty minutes, completely.

Foyet was saying something to Haley, encouraging her to give her last farewells, and then the shots reverberated through his car, through the team's headsets, and the Hotchner home simultaneously. Hotch retracted the phone from his ear, the frustration in his face clear as he realized he was still too damn far away to do anything for Haley. He just hoped he wasn't too far away to do anything for Jack. If he lost Jack he didn't think there would be any Aaron Hotchner left.

Morgan had made the order. He had ordered the team to move out, sans Reid thanks to his knee injury, to get to Hotch's house as quickly as possible.

Reid had caught Rossi by the arm and mentioned, "Be careful, all of you." His eyes were serious as they cast around the room at the fellow profilers. Garcia took that moment to snag Reid's wrist and pull him toward a chair.

The minutes felt like hours and even with Reid pouring over everything in Foyet's case file, including his name histories, Reid still felt like he was hindering more than anything else. He realized then what he had to do. He had kept a file on Foyet back at his apartment, he had been asked by Morgan, Rossi and even Hotch at different moments in time the past few months to set up a geographical profile for the Reaper to track him, he had been working on it in his down-time and could even recite the exact coordinates of the file in his bedroom at his apartment. He also recalled that there were aliases in that file.

He had been working on the assumption that Foyet would be near-enough to DC to track Hotchner comfortably, but far enough away to elude him. After all, Foyet's goal was clearly Haley and Jack in order to get at Hotch, so his focus never truly settled fully off of Hotch despite what the others may or may not have thought. Foyet was goal-driven, motivated, and paid close attention to the victims he stalked, and while it was strange to think of Hotch _as_ a victim of any kind, at the moment that was the exact victimology he needed to proceed with.

"Garcia, I have to get something from my apartment. I'll be back in an hour." He said, grabbing his coat and messenger bad as he made his way to the FBI parking garage.

Finally, _finally_ Aaron saw the familiar door and driveway he'd been speeding towards. It had taken some persuasive use of horn and side-walks to get there as soon as he had, but even that wasn't as fast as he'd have preferred.

He barely had the gear set to park before he ripped his key from the ignition, be damned if he gave Foyet a vehicle to flee in easily. He drew his gun before getting close to the door, ready to breach the entryway as he would any other hostile environment. His fingers curled around the handle of his Glock, his pointer resting around the trigger ready to fire in a hare's breath if need-be. Pushing the door open and inward, he spun into the foyer before quickly mentally clearing it.

He proceeded to clear the rooms one by one until he came to the dining room and found Haley's lifeless body. He bent down to check her pulse knowing full-well he wouldn't find it. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes.

That chapter of his life, his great youthful romance was over and gone long before Foyet, but the finality of seeing Haley dead made it clear that it was never coming back. His furrowed brows helped to keep the tears welled into his eyes, he spotted shoes behind the curtain and proceeded to empty three slots in his magazine into the drapes Haley had insisted would be the right color for matching their fine china. He pushed the curtain aside to find a shattered window, and no body. He glared at the shoes and realized almost immediately that the son of a bitch had moved a pair of his own loafers to that position.

He left Haley's body there knowing there was nothing he could do for her more important than find Jack, and he proceeded to search the rest of the house for Foyet.

Going up the stairs had been sinking and grounding. How he wished Morgan was his back-up in this. Morgan, who trained as a beat-cop before joining the ATF, bomb-squad and finally the BAU had more than his fair-share of experience in shoot-outs. Hotch trusted himself with a gun, his service pieces were more like appendages than equipment, but ever since Foyet had penetrated him nine times with serrated steal his movements became a bit slower, a bit less smooth and he feared the consequences of that.

He looked left then right, spotting no motion, he cleared the rooms closest before heading to the office, the last room unchecked.

What he saw made his breath hitch. Each room had been tossed, no doubt as Foyet searched for Jack in vain, the same way Hotch had searched for Foyet, but inside the cluttered chaos there was one perfectly clear indication of where Foyet was and Hotch suddenly felt his body grow eight degrees cooler.

Books were on the ground, the filing cabinet flipped, cushions lifted from the small sofa he had in the room, for when he passed out at 2AM and didn't have the heart to slump to bed and possibly awaken Haley… all of the disarray, even the torn curtains and yet in a perfectly cleared area in the middle of the rug was a photograph Hotch hadn't even realized he had kept at his home.

He could have sworn he took the damned thing with him to his apartment.

Staring up from that old rug he had kept from his college dorm was one of the three pictures he had ever been in with Dr. Spencer Reid alone, and right now it was more haunting than the corpse of his ex-wife in his dining room.

The gun lowered. He looked around the room for anything else before spotting what he prayed he'd find. His modified file-box wasn't overturned. In fact it looked like Foyet missed it when he sacked the room completely, but the closer he looked the more he realized Foyet had swept from the opposite direction, he had ignored the desk almost entirely, probably giving up on finding Jack when he found that picture instead. He opened the case and curled up, just as Hotch had suspected, Jack was there oblivious to the peril he had just been in.

Hotch plucked his son up into his arms, grasping him tightly as he finally let tears fall from his face. "Jack, Aunt Jessica is going to be here soon, and so are some of my team mates. I need you to be a good boy and listen to them, everyone is going to have questions for you and I need you to answer them as best as you can, got that buddy?"

Jack nodded, "Daddy, where's mommy?" Hotch bit his lip as he looked at Jack wondering how to proceed.

"Jack, mommy… she's gone, buddy. Your mom's gone." He put a firm hand on Jack's shoulder before squeezing it, he holstered his gun and grabbed his cell phone. He surprised himself as the first number he instinctively dialed hit voice-mail.

Eyes going wide, he started to scan the room. Foyet, that sneaky, conniving bastard had had a knack for finding Hotch's address book last time, and somehow the stalker in him did enough research to know the names of the people he was looking for, even if he didn't know more personal information.

During his surveillance he must have learned of Reid's name, so did he look him up…? Hotch scoured his memory to try to recall whether or not he had put Reid's address into that book or not. He quickly flipped to check the next pages of R's to find Rossi's address listed and swore under his breath. So he did keep this one up to date, too. Damn.

Dialing Morgan, Hotch found the ringer to cut off after one cycle.

"Hotch!"

"Morgan, where's Reid? He's not answering his phone."

"Hotch, man we're almost there… is, is Haley, is Jack…?" He couldn't form the words, he didn't have the heart to fill in the words hanging in the air, 'are they dead?'

"Foyet's gone. Jack's safe… Haley… Haley's…" Hotch looked at Jack before looking at the wall, "She didn't make it."

"I'm so sorry, Hotch…"

"Morgan! Is Reid WITH you?"

"No, man, he's still at Quantico with Garcia… I didn't want to chance him coming into it with Foyet here. His knee's still really messed up."

"He isn't answering his phone. We need to find him. Now."

"Hotch, what's going on with you? Why do you need to know where Reid is? Haley's…"

"Because Foyet has _HIS_ address and name, now!" He strained to force his voice quiet, he didn't mean to yell despite how frustrated he was. "Foyet isn't here, he couldn't find Jack so he moved on to the next best thing."

"…And that's Reid…?" Morgan said incredulously.

"I can explain this later, but we have to find him _before_ Foyet does."

Reid shot his eyes around the room several times. Somehow this didn't feel right. Something was out of place, he couldn't place what though, which surprised him since he had always been good at those puzzles.

His crutches still firm in his grasp, he began turning his head around, right and left searching for more of a presence than a difference, his right hand creeping toward his gun that he kept attached at his hip. He suddenly felt a chair strike him in the back, sending him sprawling to the ground. As he rolled over he caught glimpse of it. The file on Foyet was moved. It wasn't tucked neatly to the side of his bed between his nightstand and mattress, now it was on his nightstand. Seriously, how did he miss _THAT_?

His eyes came to contact with the Reaper's, or should he say with George Foyet's? His eyebrows crinkled as he reminded himself that Hotch's not-blinking is probably how he survived nine felts with a knife at the hands of this particular madman. Spencer Reid cursed himself for being a blinker at that moment.

"Why are you here?" Reid said, darkly. In the background he could hear his own phone going off, the ring he had set for Hotch. The tone was almost identical to the one for the rest of the team, it was two beeps shy in the middle, instead of a tweet-de-de-de-de-deet it only went tweet-de-de-deet, a subtle way to assure the others didn't pick up on his own anxiousness to hear Hotch when he called.

He knew now wasn't the moment to think about how he awkwardly had a crush on Hotch, and how he used every point of his 187-IQ to keep the best profilers in the BAU off his back about it for the last year. No, instead, a more important and time-sensitive topic would be what brought a serial killer into his apartment after the man made it so obvious he was intent to making _Hotch_ suffer.

"Oh, you haven't figured out why I'm here… have you?" Foyet smiled, "Aren't you supposed to be a genius?"

His eyes narrowed, greatly annoyed at how Reid who played a pivotal part within tracking him down couldn't figure out why he'd come here… how oblivious could he be? "I guess I'll fill you in, you know… it's more fun when we're both on the same page."

Reid continued reaching for his service piece only to have his crutch torn from and used against him like a croquet mallet, his gun slid under the bed well out of reach.

He stifled his wince, still keeping forced eye-contact with Foyet, still cursing himself for being a blinker as it made the forced-stare that much harder.

"I think your boss fancies you." He smiled, "I'm pretty good at being able to tell things like that. It's a gift, I know… and that brings me to your next question, doesn't it? Why I am _here_?"

Reid nodded curtly expressing his urge for Foyet to continue, Hotch just called him and he didn't answer. Garcia was the only one who realized he was at his apartment so either Hotch would piece things together or… Reid felt somewhat doomed. Hotch just lost Haley, maybe even Jack and was probably calling to get in touch with _SOMEONE_ to tell them that Foyet was _gone_. Not to get in touch with Reid to give him some sort of heads-up… Still, if he stalled long enough maybe he could make it through this. _Don't blink!_ He continued to mentally coach himself.

Foyet gave him a strange look. "You're strange, you know that?" He licked his lips, "Here I am telling you that your boss has a special fondness toward you, and you don't even look phased… but you can't gather why I'd be here, because he has a special fondness for you, and why that would make me want to hurt you."

"I get it. You're a sadist." Reid said flatly.

"All too true, but I'm here to kill you because he let one of his family get away. Does that piss you off? That you're going to die because he sacrificed you for them?"

"He didn't and wouldn't, but even if he did… It wouldn't hurt me at all. I'm in the FBI, you don't scare me the way you scare other people." Reid added to himself that he scared him on a different level separated by a fine line of scholarly interest.

"That may be true, other people don't know _just_ how focused my work is. They don't get to see the pictures of what I do, I had to rush with Haley, which is a shame, she was much more my type than you are… ah, well. It's best we get started though."

_Jack got away._ Reid thought to himself, almost smiling… almost. The situation at hand was enough of a deterrent to keep him from outwardly relaxing. Somehow it would be alright as long as he took the place for a child.

Reid saw the sheen of a knife blade before he swung his other crutch defensively in front of him. He might not be the sort to kick doors down like Hotch and Morgan, but there was no way he was going down without a fight. Albeit, with his knee in the state that it was in, that wasn't as bolstering a statement it could have been for himself.

Reid began to categorize the things within his grasp. Inside his bottom nightstand drawer he had mismatched socks, 12 pair in fact… well, 24 unique socks, no matching set was in the drawer coupled or uncoupled, it was bad luck. Underneath that he had a flashlight and some light reading- War and Peace, and a full clip. Underneath the first drawer, taped in a holster, was an extra gun he had gotten for 'self defense'.

He grabbed the drawer and pulled it hard, fully dislodging it from the furniture and sending his socks in the air, aflutter. He smacked the drawer into Foyet's thigh before letting it crash to the ground where his hand quickly reached for the magazine and pulled it out before Foyet could grab him. His hand snaked into the drawer and pulled out the Smith and Weston tucked away for certain emergencies that may or may not come up. With fluidity and grace he was sure adrenalin was to blame for, he clicked the magazine into the handle before pulling back the slide and clicking off the safety. All this took approximately 4.7 seconds. Apparently that was 1.3 seconds too long.

The knife ripped into his shoulder and Reid let out a howl, he kept the gun trained forward and into Foyet's core, pulling the trigger as he blinked twice, only to open his eyes with Foyet holding the barrel of the pistol firmly to his own chest and smirking. The knife sliced into Reid again, this time puncturing between Reid's 9th and 10th right ribs. He felt the crushing weight of 1 atmosphere deflating his lung by putting it under positive pressure.

The air hissed out of the hole Foyet made, the blood around the wound bubbling and gurgling faintly, Reid couldn't hear it over the pounding of his arteries in his ears, that sound was far more pronounced than the soft moist one so distal to him.

Foyet pulled the gun from Reid's hand with little effort after thirty seconds, Reid's head rolled back as he tried to keep himself awake, he was drowning, drowning in air, air collecting on the wrong SIDE of his lung, gasping to keep up as much negative pressure he could to fill his left lung as much as possible. He tried desperately not to do the math with the skewed percentages of how much blood was going to his right lung and returning to his circulation unoxygenated and still seeping in CO2. It wasn't truly a 50-50 divide, slightly more went to the right lung, there were more vessels to the right bronchus and lung, respectively than the left, there was more surface area, and the rate was exponential, half of a half of a half of a half, etcetera was still carrying oxygen. All that meant he was going to pass out soon, and when he did, he'd probably die.

"Hotch, JJ just checked in with Garcia, she said Reid was due back half an hour ago, that he went to his place."

"That's ten minutes from here. Morgan, I need you to stop by here… have JJ stay behind with Jack… I have to go get him."

"Wait, what?" Morgan looked at the phone incredulously, as if somehow Hotch would be able to see the look in his eyes accusing Hotch of being desperate and crazed.

"Morgan!" Hotch said, affirming his decision, he grabbed his keys. "Jack, I need you to go in your room and pack for a trip. You need to pack three days worth of clothes, okay? Three days, how many pants do you need…?"

"Three." The boy said proudly.

"That's right, good job buddy, can you do that for me? Can you pack for me?"

Jack nodded as Hotch deposited his son into his bedroom, "Now once your done you wait in your room and someone from my team will pick you up. Then you and I'll spend some time together… do you understand?"

He nodded again, that was all Hotch needed to see. He kissed his son on the forehead before sprinting out the door and to his car. Hotch disconnected the phone with Morgan, making the ten minute drive in silence punctuated solely by the wailing of his sirens.

Ten minutes, which somehow seemed to get trimmed down to seven minutes, Hotch thought as he punched his car to 80mph, far faster than what was 'safe' but at the moment he didn't really care to make the argument for getting better rates on his car insurance. He called Reid again, hoping that somehow the young agent just stopped to get coffee on his way back to the office and that was why he was late, the alternative being far too gruesome and fresh in his own mind.

Haley's accusing brown doe eyes were looking up at the ceiling as if arguing even to the end that Hotch needed to raise Jack to believe in romance, that he had to know love existed and was worth-while. Sure Hotch had his suspicions that Haley knew why he had checked out of the marriage, it was possible she realized he had wayward feelings, but she also knew he never acted upon any of them. Despite how much he wanted to reach out and touch Reid's hair, to smell it, he never did such a thing. Just as much as he dedicated himself to keeping up the charade, he tried to be a good husband to her, even if every tenth time he couldn't get himself up for her.

He remembered a few of those times, try as he may to get excited for his wife he couldn't do it, so he'd blame a case or say he had a headache and try to escape the grim reality that he'd rather have Dr. Spencer Reid bent over his desk in his office than his wife in any and he meant ANY sexual fantasy he could play out with her.

Those were the very thoughts that had brought him to this horrible situation, Hotch chastised himself. Foyet was getting under his skin greatly, he couldn't even safely fantasize about a person before they came into danger. He yanked open his glove-box and pulled out a set of keys. On that keychain was a set to the doors of each of his agents, Gideon had even left him a key to his cabin at one point, and never opted to ask for it back. In a correspondence they had had years later, Gideon explained that he wanted Hotch to have access to someplace anchoring, and if it ever came a time when that wouldn't be his own home, that he could use the cabin in it's stead.

He was almost tempted to take him up on the offer, except he knew that the cabin had also had a severed head in it thanks to the Fisher King. A small part of him wondered if Reid would be forced to move after this, thanks to Foyet's knowledge of his home address or if he'd somehow manage to get by despite the fact.

No answer again.

He dialed Morgan, "How far out are you from Reid's?"

"We just pulled in to your place, Hotch. JJ's heading inside. Prentiss, Rossi and I'll get to your position in ten minutes. Wait for us, Hotch."

"Reid might not _have_ ten minutes."

"_Hotch!_" It struck him how much it sounded like Morgan was whining, both would do the same thing though, they both knew that was an order no one on the team would follow. Especially knowing what Hotch felt for Reid, alright, so vaguely understanding something was going on behind the scenes, well… maybe that wasn't the best way to put it. Nothing was going on, but after this, there was going to be something, whether Hotch would tender his resignation after-the-fact would be entirely up to Reid's reaction to it.

Hotch hung up on Morgan unceremoniously before crossing the threshold into Reid's apartment lobby thanks to the access key.

His emotions were storming as he stood outside Reid's door, there was the clear scent of fresh blood, and the way it was hitting Hotch told him there was probably a lot if the smell was forceful enough to make it through the closed door. Much like how he had stood before entering his own home, he slid the key into the lock, his left shoulder leaning against the door, left hand holding the key, right hand holding his service piece. He took a deep breath before shoulder-shoving the door wide open.

"FBI!" He barked as he entered, with the scent of blood he doubted innocent findings, but he still hoped that he could be wrong, he wished he was wrong and that Reid would just look at him in stupefied shock, maybe coming out of the shower and wondering why Hotch had stormed his apartment.

He'd settle for the glassy but alive look in Reid's eyes as he struggled to keep Foyet at bay with his one crutch. He'd settle for it, you see, because Reid's _ALIVE_. He could see Foyet was in Kevlar, and realized it after the first three shots did little to faze him from his frenzied attack of Reid, who valiantly continued to deflect the most severe of blows with the one crutch.

Hotch toppled into Foyet, nearly tripping over the other crutch that had found itself behind Foyet. Before long, Hotch was on top of Foyet slamming into every sturdy piece of furniture Reid owned, and it appeared that Reid was a fan of Tudor styled pieces, everything he owned was large and clunky, old world. Subduing Foyet and beating him unconscious seemed to be about the same to Hotch, losing himself to the scene he didn't even hear Foyet as he surrendered over and over and over again.

"You got me… I surrender…!" Foyet's head was driven into the corner of Reid's dresser, then repeatedly into the hardwood floor, splashes of crimson that was less oxidated than Reid's bloodstains splattered into medium velocity pellets.

Between where Hotch and Foyet were and where Reid lied, Hotch saw movement. Not from Foyet, though, which for all of his boiling anxieties kept making him hit his head into the floor to assure he didn't even twitch funny… it took him a solid 6 minutes to realize Reid was the one who was moving, he apparently crawled to the phone before dialing 911 from his cellular.

Reid who had begun the pain-staking process of dragging himself closer to Hotch, found himself caked in the blood of Foyet, his own, and what he suspected was some of Haley's.

"Hotch…" Reid had wheezed, "…gotta stop… 's dead…"

His hands finally ceased their rigid vertical movements to survey what he had just done. They were shaking, his hands were shaking from the adrenalin, or maybe it was the fear? Whatever was making him shake was inconsequential, Hotch decided as he saw Reid and the state he was in.

"Oh my god, Reid!" Hotch's mind quickly fumbled into first-aid techniques as he stripped off his tie and proceeded to tourniquet Reid's right arm that was covered in blood before Reid shook his hand free.

"Hotch! Stop!" Reid hissed out, he used his hand to draw attention to the blood-source, "I's bad"

Hotch didn't know if Reid was asking him or telling him, but despite it he knew what had to be done and what had to be said, "You'll live… Reid. You're going to pull through it…"

Reid closed his eyes, blinking them repeatedly while clenched to hold back a swell of tears. "'m a blinker…"

"Reid…?"

"e said you like me…" Reid continued to press his right hand into a particularly bad slash-wound. "s'at true? Do y' like me?"

Hotch kissed Reid's lips, "You have to hold on… the others will be here any minute now, an ambulance will be behind them…"

Reid locked eyes with Hotch, a faint smile on his lips, "Y'do like me 'en… it wasn't a lie…" The far away look in Reid's eyes was hallowing, Hotch clutched Reid's left hand tightly in his.

"Please stay with me, Reid… I can't lose you too… I can't!"

Reid's eyes flitted across the room before falling back onto Hotch's and then making another pass of the room, "Y'already told me… 'm not gonna die. Y'know I wouldn't defy an order…"

"Then I order you to be okay." Hotch offered helpfully. He heard Morgan at the door, by the sounds of it paramedics were arguing that it had to be cleared before going in, themselves. Hotch broke contact with Reid for only a moment to race to the door and pull it open, "It's clear… Foyet's down… dead. Reid's in bad shape, multiple stab wounds."

Morgan just gaped at how the once-white business shirt of Hotch's could be so soaked in red, the sleeves were slicked with liquid.

"Tell me that's not all Reid's…" He let out in shock as paramedics pushed in.

They quickly triaged Reid to go first, working to apply pressure on the several stab-wounds, an oxygen mask donning his mouth and nose as they observed how blue his lips and finger tips were.

Rossi and Prentiss, perhaps the most capable of compartmentalizing, took action to secure the scene, Prentiss pulled Hotch and Morgan out, telling them to ride in with Reid as they started to process the scene, she proceeded to call JJ and Garcia and share the news. It wasn't good news, but it wasn't bad news, not yet at least. Not until Reid was in the hospital and there was a more solid pulse on his condition. Rossi announced for Prentiss, "Foyet's dead. He's not coming back from _that_."

He tilted Foyet's head to show an indented skull that was about the same depth and shape as the corner to Reid's dresser, conveniently accented in blood-red and brown hair-tufts.

Reid's eyes fluttered open and closed, he was sure he was dreaming for a solid ten minutes as he stared at Aaron and Jack Hotchner pacing and sitting in the room respectively.

It took Morgan coming in while flirting with a nurse to make Reid realize he was really awake, after all, despite his immense IQ, or maybe because of it, he had never fathomed some of the pick-up lines Morgan would use.

"Nurse, you _must_ have a fever because you are HOT…" Just wasn't the kind of thing Reid's imagination could produce on it's own.

He closed and opened his eyes slowly several times before finally announcing, "'m not dead… right?" He groaned as he tried to pull himself into a seated position, Hotch had quickly crossed over to Reid's side to nudge him back down into the bed, the nurse taking the other side of him took his vitals before hitting the call button to the nurse's station. "'Cuz I don't think I deserved to go to hell… an' this feels like it…"

"That's just the joys of being stabbed half a dozen or so times." Hotch edified.

"7." Reid specified, "Well, 7 stabs, and 4 slashes… slashes don't count as stabs, right…?"

Morgan smiled, "You had us scared, pretty boy. You've been out for two days."

Reid's eyes met Hotch's, "Two days…?" The real question he wanted to say had sat firmly on his tongue, refusing to be said. Hotch seemed to interpret it though because he decided to explain his and Jack's presence.

"We came by to visit you today, I also came in for the necessary paperwork for …well…" He looked at Jack, Reid felt like scum for bringing it up until he realized that technically he didn't.

"I'm sorry for your loss… really, Hotch, Jack…"

Jack shrugged, he began staring at his feet, Hotch offered, "He's adjusting right now."

Reid merely nodded, if he really had slept two days why was he still so tired…? "Foyet…?"

"Deceased." Morgan was the one to offer up that insight. Reid let the thought mull over in his mind. "Strauss wants a report about the incident as soon as you're up for it… and for the record, I went to your place with JJ to pack up some of your things, since it's a crime-scene and all."

"But Foyet's dead… why do they care about a crime scene when the culprit's…" Reid closed his eyes as the thought finally sunk in, this was under internal review. "I'm sorry… I should've stayed back at the Bureau…"

"Reid, no one's blaming you for any of this. We all know damn well who's at fault for this mess, and may he rot in hell." Morgan looked at Jack realizing his language probably wasn't as kid-friendly as he was trying to keep it. "Foyet did this, not you, so don't feel guilty you dig? We'll watch your back, both of yours… but there's going to be some questions and I figured I'd give you a heads-up before you got back."

"You mean like why Foyet went after Haley and then came after me…?" Reid asked. Hotch nodded once, solemnly. "Isn't it obvious that he was targeting members of the BAU? And that once he completed the first part of his 'mission' he had to come after the next part?"

Reid let out a long sigh.

"You need to rest, Reid. Hotch is going to be at his apartment with Jack for a while, and you have all our numbers. The nurse will let me know once they know how long you need to stay here and Rossi's got a bag of your stuff packed up for you. I think he likes your pen though, so make sure that's still in your bag when you get it."

"The one I use to write to my mom with…"

"He's a writer, go figure he'd like pens."

"…He uses a laptop." Reid's fatigue riddled voice almost came off dead-pan.

"If you need anything Reid, call. Any of us, we're all here for you if you need us, same goes to you, Hotch. I don't want you guys shutting in on yourselves. You got me? I know this post isn't mine for much longer… but that's an order you both best plan to follow or I will not be gentle on you."

Reid smiled slightly, and he could have sworn that Hotch's lips raised in at least one corner a few millimeters.

"We should let Reid rest now. Jack, are you hungry? Let's get you something to eat." Morgan nodded before walking out the door, a few moments later Jack stood up from the chair nodding as he was led out the door. Hotch stopped to turn around.

"Reid, know these three things, I'm glad you're alive, We'll get through this, and I meant it when I said I love you."

Reid suddenly blushed, "…W-when did you say that?"

"You've been unconscious for two days, Reid. When do you think I haven't _said_ that?"

"Don't tell me you weren't just here on coincidence…"

"Wow, you are a genius." Hotch smiled before walking out of the room, taking Jack with him to get some lunch, leaving Reid to gawk at the door and wonder what just transpired.

The End.


	2. Chapter 2

It was late when Reid woke up again, he knew that because of how the shadows played across the ceiling tiles in his hospital room, the way the nurses dimmed the lights to mimic the outside yet still left it bright enough to read if he was so inclined. They never made hospitals _dark_, not like Reid was complaining, even if it meant insomnia the alternative of being stuck in a dark room he couldn't physically leave even if he wanted to would have been unbearable. Not like he was having insomnia, no, no he was perfectly able to fall asleep. That's what trapped him in nightmares after all.

He continued to watch the ceiling, he was shivering, it was cold and he was afraid but at least it wasn't dark. The totality of what had occurred three days ago was sinking in. He was lying in a hospital bed with 11 new marks on his body, Haley was going to be committed into the ground tomorrow, and Foyet was dead. When he was awake, that is. Behind his eyelids, Foyet was more alive than anything else had ever been. He was immortal there. Well, as immortal as Reid was. Insult to injury, with Hotch on review for beating a serial killer to death, and the questionable reasons as to why that happened in Reid's apartment no less, meant there was a strong possibility that Hotch wouldn't come back to the FBI after his grievance leave. Hotch's career might well be as dead as his ex-wife and that was all because Reid left a file in his apartment instead of at the office.

FBI property, secure material, in his personal possession off premises, hell, his job might be open after Strauss was through.

He didn't _really_ believe that, inside he knew he was pretty irreplaceable to the big-wigs, well until another token genius came stumbling in. That was his sense of job security after all. Reid stared at the dotted tiles spotting what was sneakily familiar to Orion and his belt, well, the star that should have been his arm was off a bit, but still it was something to amuse himself with.

Reid drew his hands to his face and began to weep. There were a few things he was truly grateful for, Hotch and Jack being alive were definitely high on that list, but simultaneously he felt miserable. It wasn't just the pain, either… and by no means was that a small feat, he refused the painkillers adamantly. The fear, that was what made it the worst.

His hands shook as he raked his own fingers in his hair, he kept affirming that Hotch was alive, Jack was alive, Hotch even _LOVED_ him for Pete's Sake! Foyet was dead, even if psychologically that fact refused to _sink in_ it was still _true_. His career was secure, another intellectual fact that his psychology refused to acknowledge, but Hotch's… even intellectually he couldn't ascertain if that was secure. After all, Strauss did hate Hotch. Not for anything reasonable either, it was because they both played some politics, but they were on rival teams. Team Hotch, which did what he had to for the BAU and a small piece for himself, was versus the rival Team Strauss who's goals were much less altruistic, she wanted to be director one day. A job she was never going to get, Reid didn't even have to rely on statistics to explain away why. It was Hoover's motto that women weren't to be trusted, that lineage was passed on through the FBI even the junior agents mistrusted their female counterparts unless they outranked them. They were raised into that philosophy and it was hard for many to really break that mold, and enough of the ones who hadn't broken through were in power. Strauss was doomed to her glass ceiling.

Reid would pity her, if she wasn't such a callous bitch about it.

He smiled softly, meekly, this train of thought was just the distraction he needed. Just as he was about to convince himself to try to go to sleep he heard the clacking of women's loafers moving toward his door. They had about a ½ inch lift, they were clunky and white, going with the nurse's uniform, a one-piece button-down dress. How the hell they managed to find a hospital in this day and age that had such an old style dress-code was amazing, but not a one of the orderlies or nurses wore scrubs. Neither did the doctors or the technicians, well the ones he had seen at least. They all wore white somewhere or another, either as a lab coat underneath which ran a gamut of colors and styles all considered business casual to business professional, a nurse's uniform, or in the form of white jackets that made Reid remiss of his mother. He had mused a few times of whether he had had a psychotic break and really was locked up in a facility for treatment during bouts of severe pain. Escapism was working wonders for a coping mechanism.

He wished for the days of yore when he could just be numb and not feel. He remembered how when Dodd had been killed by his own hands how he had later confided to Gideon that he felt nothing. It made him question his own humanity, but to this day he didn't feel badly about his decision. Maybe Gideon's words really were a charm protecting him from it. _You did the right thing, because you did it many people are alive and I'm proud of you_. Who would be proud of him for being stabbed and not being able to call his boss off before he murdered another human being using Reid's furniture?

He let out a groan, he was going to have to replace all of that now, wasn't he? He mentally tallied his living expenses and his next two checks, most of which were now officially going to buy new furniture and afford a down-payment on a new apartment. The landlord was going to give him hell about breaking his lease, Reid suspected.

At least he had great health insurance, otherwise he'd be living on the streets, forget a new apartment. Sighing again, Reid realized the nurse had come in, had probably addressed him several times, and he was still zoning out.

"Ah… sorry, did you say something?" Reid offered.

The gentle woman smiled, she was probably in her late 30s, she looked older though, but she did work the night-shift and that did tend to add years to a person's appearance. "Spencer, could you unbutton your shirt for me?" She asked in a polite but assertive voice.

Reid looked in her eyes for a few moments, he began blinking, Foyet's eyes had been haunting, cold and yet hot like burning embers. They were branded into his mind, locking eyes with that maniac was probably the worst look he could even imagine. How did Hotch manage not to go insane after that when he had been paid a visit?

He clenched his eyes shut, better not to think about these things, his fingers nimbly went over the buttons, hitching when they got half-way down, near the bottom of his ribs. He remembered the joys of surgery, the emergency procedure he was still vaguely conscious over as they were trying to depressurize his lung, that hook-like tube they had forced into him before sewing the wound up, that part he _was_ unconscious for but he still knew it happened. He'd have the scar to prove it underneath his excessive bandages. Swallowing back the lump in his throat he continued, grazing the sore area with his sleeve, luckily that excess of bandages provided him with padding, jarring the now broken ribs was unpleasant all the same, but it was less hell than it could have been.

He finally got to the bottom of his shirt and then looked back up at the nurse who was looking at his chest… his bandages, he corrected. People didn't think of him in sexual ways. Well, not that he knew of.

_I love you_.

Reid blushed, never mind, maybe Hotch did. What a wonderful exception to the rule that would be… He almost missed the nurse's comment.

"No need to be shy, Spencer. I just want to take a look at your bandages and get you changed." She offered.

Right, he blushed. Reid was trying to piece together her sentiment until it dawned on him why that was.

"Any idea when I can check myself out?" Reid was tempted to use the 'I'm a doctor' ploy to create his own discharge date, he didn't want to miss Haley's funeral. In fact, he needed to be there and not just for Hotch and Jack. It made this all real, it confirmed he wasn't insane, that Foyet had done these things and was in fact dead. Not just hiding behind Reid's eyelids, but dead. For having an eidetic memory, he was surprised at how 'forgetful' his own subconscious was about that important detail.

"Your friend, Derek, he said he would pick you up tomorrow to take you to the funeral, but then he's going to bring you back here. We'll change your admission to place you under in-patient care instead of the ICU."

"Couldn't I just schedule a nurse from hospice care…?"

She smiled, "Your friend said you didn't have a place to stay at the moment… do you remember that?"

Reid's eyes narrowed, of course he 'remembered' how a mad man attacked him in his apartment, that didn't mean he couldn't crash with someone, he knew they'd all offer if he asked. "I'm not on drugs." He mentioned defensively, shocking himself at his own bitterness.

She looked at his chart, surprised he really wasn't on anything for the pain.

"Is there a way for me to get in touch with a nurse placement group? I'd rather not stay at the hospital."

The woman was baffled, and embarrassed, but compliant all the same. "Of course, I'll …get in touch with your emergency contact and have him arrange…"

"No, I can do it. Hotch has enough to _arrange_ right now." Reid's reuse of her words made her realize the funeral was connected to the contact.

"Oh, my, well why don't I get in touch with Derek then? He said if you needed anything to call him and he'd set it up."

"That's fine." Reid said, letting out a slow breath. The woman silently changed his bandages, both probably embarrassed albeit for different reasons, but Reid couldn't bring himself to apologize for being snippy. He was in too much pain to have the forbearance to do it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Morgan was in his room now, and by the brighter lighting Reid realized as he begrudgingly awoke that it was probably late in the morning hours, maybe around 10 or 11AM. Morgan laid a suit bag down across the bed gently.

"Morning, Pretty Boy. JJ pulled this from your closet, you need any help getting into it?"

Reid blushed, it was mortifying to admit it, but he knew he would.

"Hey don't give me that look, it's alright man. I mean, you're in the hospital… they don't usually give 'day passes' for people messed up the way you were."

"Thanks." Reid said dryly, he didn't quite like the comparison or the memory, but he'd deal with it. "Were you able to…?"

"Set up a place for you to crash and get a nurse who can be a live-in 'til you don't need a live in nurse?"

Reid swallowed hard, it made it sound so much more complicated when it was actually spelled out for him.

"Have I ever fallen through on you, man?" Morgan contemplated for a moment, in answer to Reid's look that said he was too, "Don't answer that. It was rhetorical and you know it."

"…Well, there _was_ that time at the bar…" Morgan tossed Reid's tie at him in mock annoyance.

"Yeah…? What time was _THAT_?"

"More like several times, actually. What did you say you were again? My _wing-man_? Yet you left me countless times to fly solo, as I recall." He smiled victoriously.

"Yeah but the bar scene's not exactly the same as this, now is it? Hotch said you can crash at his apartment, figured it would be the most convenient, in case you need stuff from your place it's not too far away."

Reid wanted to ask if that was really a good idea, but didn't.

"I told him there might be a conflict of interest, he insisted it wasn't, or you can stay at my place, if you're more comfortable with it, problem is, since I'm out in the burbs a bit more, there isn't a nurse group that does out-patient care."

"Are you sure you weren't secretly banned for picking up their girls…?" Reid smiled.

"…Whatever man. Hotch's place is close by to have an out-patient nurse who can stop in and check up on ya, but doesn't have to stay the night. I cleared that by your doctors, and they said you're past the point where you need 24-hour-a-day monitoring so that's okay with her. If you're not cool with staying with Hotch, Garcia said she'd lend you her couch… but Hotch said he does have a good air mattress."

"Air mattress." Reid decided firmly, knowing just how well how lumpy and miserable Garcia's couch could be after a few drunken benders karaoke-ing with Garcia had lent him to learning.

Morgan helped Reid get his pant legs on the correct corresponding limb before pulling it up to the knees as Reid sat with his legs over the lip of the bed. Reid took them from that point and stood up, almost toppling until Morgan steadied his shoulders. That came with mixed feelings, since the shooting pains were rather intense, but falling to the floor would have also been miserable.

Reid's aching knee was really a secondary thought until it wobbled reminding him of how unstable it was. Morgan's grip strengthened, readjusting to a place not covered with bandages which Reid was eternally grateful for. Taking in a breath, he pulled the pants up, the cloth-gown hiding his parts from Morgan's view which Reid added to his list of things to be thankful over. After his pants were on, Morgan helped strip him of his button-down 'gown', it really was more of a really over-sized pajama top that ended at mid-thigh, he handed Reid an undershirt, but stopped short of handing it off as he realized the impossibility of Reid actually succeeding at putting it on. He roiled it up so the sleeves were stretched to fit over Reid's much like he'd put on his own shirt in the morning, and then hoisted it over Reid's head and let the younger man navigate stiff limbs through the arm-holes before pulling it down carefully.

He ignored Reid's wincing, more out of civility than indifference, Reid must be mortified being dressed by another man, but then again, maybe it was just because of who that man was. Namely since it wasn't Hotch. Morgan was coming to fully realize that Reid probably liked Hotch back, and Hotch had all but stated to him his intent during the days they had waited for Reid to regain consciousness.

That had been awkward, and he meant Spencer Reid awkward, not just uncomfortable silence for a minute in the elevator awkward. It was a whole new level. Well, for Hotch and Morgan at least, again it was right on par with Reid's.

Rossi had taken Jack to get some ice-cream while Hotch worked on a funeral planner folder, selecting service types, coffin, coffin liner, flowers, headstone and scriptures, and what would be engraved into the headstone, all of which while Morgan and he waited for Reid to wake up. It was how Hotch managed to stay there, by moving the things he needed to do to the hospital so he could wait for Reid.

Morgan helped Reid slip his shirt over his arms, Reid handled buttoning them it himself, stifling his muffled winces as he had to bend slightly at the ribs while he tucked his own shirt in. He slid Reid's arms into the suit jacket, pulled it up and straightened it, as Reid sat back on the bed, he glanced at Reid's mismatched socks and just shook his head at the silliness that was the young genius. On a bended knee, he began working on Reid's feet, suiting them up until he was lacing his black loafers. It was a black suit, a grey shirt and a black and grey tie, his socks were the only splash of color, one was a cardigan-print with burgundy and gold accents over grey, the other was forest green with yellow horizontal stripes spacing them at about an inch between each mustard marker. He was glad the pants fit enough to not need a belt, he wasn't sure Reid would be able to handle having that extra pressure over his wounds.

Hotch had told him Foyet found a picture. At first Morgan thought a team photo was hardly a reason to go after Reid specifically, until Hotch clarified the picture was of only Reid and himself, a moment after one of the group dinners, Reid had been sloshed and was leaning on Hotch, blushing from liquor, he had been too plastered to walk, and Morgan instantly realized it was a karaoke night. Garcia, apparently, was also the photographer. She had emailed it around to them all, with various other images of Reid smashed. Reid dancing, badly, with random people, objects, and drinks, yes Morgan remembered the night Garcia had a camera and Reid had danced with a chair, it had been his wallpaper for a good month on his phone until a case had a close-call about a cop almost seeing his phone's backdrop and he opted to change it to something more professional… or at least less incriminating of his team's professionalism.

Hotch explained he had kept the photo, and two others, he said he had the team photos too, of course, but that he had kept that one in a different place, it was a bookmark to a psychology reference text, it was where he marked 'narcissism', not because he needed the quick reference, but because when he needed to assure himself that he could still smile even after all the bad things that had happened, he'd look at it. He also confessed that he had thought he brought that book to the apartment but apparently hadn't. Morgan suspected the reason for it being filed under narcissism had little to do with Hotch feeling narcissistic, after all, voyeurism would have been more adequate, or other phrases, there were many that could better categorize what he might have potentially felt like he was living vicariously through those feelings. Narcissism had been the code Reid had used in the Hankel case, though. That had been how they had found him and saved him, that was why Hotch kept it there, to assure him things could still be alright.

He told him about how he secretly had been feeling things for Reid ever since tutoring him on the shooting-range all those years ago, and even before then, when Gideon had went on leave for PTSD and how lost Reid was, how it had endeared him to the older agent. Eventually Morgan had told Hotch to shut up and confess to the correct person, when he woke up. He decided he'd never judge his friends for having those candid feelings for each other or even one-sided. It wasn't his place. He just wished them both happiness and if that came through each other, great, if not, also great. He didn't give a damn what methodology they used as long as it was discrete and didn't get anyone fired or worse, killed. He was smart enough not to SAY that sentiment, with Reid's close call and all… but he had heard Hotch whisper things to Reid, to himself, and opted not to translate it though he knew damn well it was a love confession.

He even pulled Rossi aside and asked if he thought there was anything up between Hotch and Reid. What shocked him was how blunt Rossi had been when he said Reid had wanted to shag Hotch for as long as he'd known him and probably longer, since he hadn't known Reid for all that long. He had ben expecting insight from Hotch, not Reid… Reid was HIS best friend, he should have known that sort of thing about him. Rossi though, damn was he a great profiler, and maybe even better friend because he said he was sure Hotch had ruined his own marriage over his feelings too, but that he never was dumb enough to have Hotch confirm his suspicions.

Reid was giving Morgan a look which quickly brought him out of his reverie. "I need my crutches."

"Wheelchair." Morgan corrected, and pointed. "You ain't up to crutches whether you think so or not."

Reid rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Fine, but we have to hurry, we can't be late to something like this."

Morgan nodded and brought the wheelchair over, he then handed Reid a brush, "You might want to fix your hair."

"Thanks." Reid muttered out, flushed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The funeral and wake had been open-casket. It disturbed Reid, it was hard to see mortality up-front with people he knew playing the parts. It was harder seeing Jack shake her and ask Hotch why she wasn't waking up, and it was damn near impossible to breathe after hearing Hotch explain what death was to a four-year old.

It was bad enough that Morgan pulled his ass out of the room to make him calm down, he even cheated and locked the wheels so Reid couldn't just move back into the room to keep an eye on Hotch, but he realized Morgan was right, he didn't want to create a scene in front of Haley's family. It would have been grossly inappropriate, but even still he didn't want to not be there for Hotch. Eventually, by realizing he had to calm down to be there for Hotch, he willed himself to be calm. To cover the emotions, and the scars that this was rehashing, this is what made everything real and confirmed.

That's right, this was really happening. This hell was real. George Foyet was killed by his 5-drawer dresser, at his boss's hands, in his bedroom. He had to replace his furniture, he mentally chided himself. He wished he could just as easily 'forget' and 'move past' what happened to him, but then he'd see Foyet's cold yet burning eyes boring into his head. Haley lying there, her eyes closed, it reminded him of the same gut-retching guilt that he hadn't been smart enough to track him. Rationally he knew not to blame himself, but emotionally he wanted to have something to do to escape his own fears and anxieties, and self-loathing was oddly a fitting choice.

He almost felt as if Haley was looking at him specifically, accusingly, from inside the oak box, blaming him, wishing it was him and not her, but it almost had been… wasn't that fair enough? When Morgan left Garcia in control of the wheels, she led him up to say goodbye to Haley and then to Hotch and Jack to offer condolences, he had broke down at that point, but with enough grace to bow his head to hide his tears.

Hotch had just put his hand over his upper arm and squeezed, telling him it was over. Telling him it was ok, how he could say that, Reid had no idea, how Hotch knew this wasn't over his pain or Haley's loss and yet could still offer that merciful sentiment, he didn't know, but he was in awe.

Garcia wheeled Reid to the bathroom after that and handed him tissues, her own eyeliner and mascara a mess.

"Waterproof my foot." She mustered as she swiped at her badger-eyes. She then hugged Reid, "You know you're safe now, don't you?"

Reid look up at her in shock, the techy, while a genius in her own rights was not a profiler… yet perhaps from her grief-counseling she had picked up on cues like this before. He didn't even realize he was still crying when he raised his head.

Silently the tears kept pouring down.

"Foyet's dead, Reid. He's dead, and you're not."

His breath hitched in his throat coming out as a whimpered gasp, the pitiable fear made Garcia approach, hugging him.

"Hotch needs us all at our best, and you need us too… when you're ready, you know where I am."

Reid looked at her.

"That's right, behind you in the bushes taking candid photos to photoshop into funny poses." She smiled, Reid let out a weak laugh and it hurt like hell to do that much, but it was enough to lighten the mood because after he coughed three or four times he stopped crying and dried his eyes. Garcia took him out of the bathroom, JJ and Emily walked beside them as they watched Morgan, Rossi, and a few people from Hotch and Haley's families and circle of friends carry out the coffin as Hotch held Jack up in his arms and walked out behind it to the car. A driver was there to escort the men, Jessica met up at the vehicle and slid in beside Jack, the adults sandwiching the boy.

Reid put the brakes on the wheelchair before Garcia could push him closer to the open grave. He had to steal himself a few breaths before he dared make a public appearance in front of everyone to put his flower on her casket. He doubted he even had the right, especially since he was apparently her romantic rival all these years. To think, all that time he thought it was a pipe-dream, and that she probably resented him for all those same years, both hating the happiness the other supposedly had in the love for Aaron Hotchner, after all… Reid never felt like he had Hotch, and apparently after a while, Haley had felt the same way. The sad truth was neither realized that Hotch hadn't given himself to either of them fully… not at the time. Reid knew that would change now, Hotch's confession to him assured it, he just hoped Jack wouldn't resent him for it. Unlocking the wheel-brakes, he nodded to Garcia who pushed him close enough to the coffin to toss the flower onto it, it landed on the bottom third, roughly in the center, Garcia laid her flower next to his before pulling him back a safe distance.

In silence they watched as she was committed to the earth, Reid had zoned out before realizing they were back at the reception at a restaurant, Hotch's apartment was too small to house the grievers, and he had politely refused Jessica's offer to let it take place at her house, sighting that she shouldn't have to do dishes for this sort of thing.

Eventually, the group diminished until Reid realized it was Hotch, Jack and himself. He didn't even realize Garcia and Morgan had left before Jessica had said farewell. Jessica apparently didn't notice him, thankfully, since he was sure that would raise questions and eyebrows as to why a subordinate was staying so long for his boss's wife's funeral… for her sister's funeral. Hotch went to the waiting area Reid had been staying it before approaching, Jack was starting to fall asleep in a chair across the way.

"I have to take Jack home to nap. My car's right outside."

Reid nodded, not quite getting at what Hotch meant.

"Reid, I'm driving us all home." He clarified.

Reid blinked, right. He had to go somewhere now, and last he was aware, it was supposed to be Hotch's. He really hoped any nightmares he'd have, he'd have in silence. It wouldn't be fair for Hotch to hear him screaming about Foyet.

"Morgan packed up some of your things and brought them by to my place, and at 6 a nurse is going to stop in to check on you. So, we should head out now."

"What time is it?"

"5:30. It's not far." Hotch assured. Reid nodded, suddenly feeling tired himself. Hotch put his hand on Reid's cheek before pulling back. Reid was glad he didn't follow through with a kiss, it would have made him feel guilty… well, guiltier.

Instead, Reid just contemplated how he was going to get to Hotch's apartment without using the elevator, he wasn't much of a fan for them.

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3

Hotch wheeled Reid over to the door to the limo, Jack already laying on the side seat, asleep. "How do you want to do this?"

Reid looked at Hotch in confusion before he realized Hotch was talking to him. "I, uh, I can just slide in… it's not far."

Hotch looked doubtful, but didn't protest. He extended a hand to Reid and gently pulled. Reid, hobbling on one foot hopped the pace to the limo before sitting down. Hotch moved his damaged knee into the car, Reid's good leg followed on it's own accord before sliding over a few inches. Hotch closed the door and folded the wheelchair. It went into the trunk and he reappeared on the other side of the limo before slipping in. The limo driver closed the door and headed back to the temporary Hotchner homestead.

Getting out of the car was more of a challenge than getting into it, Hotch had gotten out, set up the wheelchair and brought it as close to the door as he could, however, in order to navigate Reid to the chair he had to put enough space to allow himself in between. He pulled Reid's hand to ease him out of the car, but due to the awkward angle Reid had to lean in so not to bang his head on the door frame, he lurched forward and into Hotch's chest. It would have been laughable except for the jarring pain that it sent to his ribs, beyond the fact that laughing with broken ribs hurt like hell too.

Reid winced, it took him several minutes to collect his breath, leaning against Hotch's chest, gasping in pain on one foot, the other dragging behind without any weight baring onto it. He hit his head into Hotch's chest lightly to signal that he should maneuver the chair a bit so Reid could sit back down. His abs were tight from standing, and it was a very strange sensation to feel threads sewn along his abs feeling pulled in two directions. Hotch turned him slightly and sat him in the wheelchair breathing out soft, "Sorry… sorry, that could've gone more smoothly…"

"Not your fault… it's fine." Reid gave a weak smile, but he meant it. He didn't think any of this was Hotch's fault. Any of it, the man had just done what was right and sometimes what is the right thing isn't the easy thing and sometimes the right thing doesn't give positive results. Hotch picked Jack up in his arms and walked back over to Reid's wheelchair. Popping the wheel-locks up, he pushed Reid, steering the three inside.

Using a ramp, the three entered the apartment building, bypassing the steps. Hotch brought them up to the elevator, Reid's eyes enlarged momentarily before bowing his head.

"It's a new building. This elevator has never crapped out on me once." Hotch volunteered, Reid nodded more in a conversational sense, but Hotch took it as approval so he loaded the three of them into the elevator. Reid's shoulders tensed, but then again if he was going to get trapped in an elevator with anyone Hotch wasn't the worst candidate.

His mind filled in George Foyet as the worst, and his breathing sped up at the anxious thought. Hotch put a hand on Reid's shoulder, squeezing lightly. Reid willed himself to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths. As the elevator dinged, the doors slid open revealing their floor. Before their door was a nurse with a large bag, about to knock on the door.

"Excuse me, are you Nurse Wright?" Hotch asked in a hushed lull. The woman nodded.

"Yes, ah, you must be Spencer. It's a pleasure to meet you." She smiled.

Reid gave a half-hearted wave of his hand, mostly cocking his wrist to exaggerate the gesture, but he felt too tired for a round of introductions; the kind of tired that seeped into his emotional strength too, not just his physical.

"Let me just set him down and then I can show you both to where Spencer's staying."

The woman nodded, not sure entirely what was happening. It seemed like he was taking in a sick friend. Hotch put Jack in his toddler bed, raising up the roll-bar to protect him from falling out and then went into the living room to spot Reid already working on taking off his tie and jacket.

"Right this way…" He mentioned toward what Reid was sure was his study. When he got there, he felt a bit guilty. Hotch had already changed the set-up to that of a proper guest-room… when had he had the time?

"Thank you Mr. Hotchner. Spencer, do you need any help changing?"

Reid blushed and mumbled, "I can manage…"

The nurse just gave him a patient look and then took off his shoes, shocked to see such an odd sock-pairing, which Reid picked up on, blushing a bit more.

"I… uh… matching socks are unlucky." He offered before finally raising his head to look for Hotch, he wouldn't mind seeing someone who understood him and his eccentricities.

"Really? I never heard that before." She smiled, Reid relaxed slightly at that, glad this woman seemed so pleasant… even if she did think he was crazy. "So, Spencer, how are you feeling today?"

"Tired, and a little sore, but nothing unexpected."

"I reviewed your chart, it said you aren't on any medication. I'm going to take a look at your dressings, make sure everything looks good and then wrap them back up. Then we'll get you cleaned up and ready for bed. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan…" Reid couldn't meet her eyes, he was pretty sure that included a sponge-bath, which was a bit mortifying, actually. Hotch gave Reid a gentle look.

"Ms. Wright, do you need me to set up anything?"

"Oh, could you tell me where your bathroom is? I need to draw some warm water." Her gentle smile was persistent and Hotch almost found it grating, that chipper attitude with everything else… he chose to look at it as 'refreshing' instead, if only to keep from telling her to get the fuck out of his apartment since Reid obviously needed medical care.

"It's right this way." He pointed it out to her, "R- Spencer, we'll leave you to get undressed."

Reid nodded thankfully, his eyes glowing with gratitude of not being watched as he fumbled to get out of his suit. It wasn't a painless procedure, and honestly he would have been happy for help, but not by some stranger he didn't know. Just thinking about some random woman touching him made him uncomfortable, so he would grin and bear the pain in his chest when he worked his shirt off. He left his boxers on preserving some modesty, truly hoping he'd be able to bend over come tomorrow to change those himself. He didn't think he could take the embarrassment of someone changing his underwear, he was a grown man, damn it. He shouldn't need to have this sort of dilemma!

Alone in the room, he took in the set up. This room wasn't constructed as just any old guest room, this was actually a set0up designed to cater to him, he'd have to thank Hotch about it later. Bookshelves, a nightlight, lamp within reach of the air-mattress, extra blankets nearby the bed, and then a dresser close-by, even a chair in there to sit down and relax… or get changed since Reid couldn't stand up to do it, thanks to his knee.

About ten minutes later, there was a light knock on the door, Hotch returned holding a towel and a change of clothes courtesy of Reid's go-bag.

"I really don't know about this…" Reid laughed nervously, "Somehow it just seems…"

"I know what you mean. That's why I convinced her to let me do it. She still has to change your bandages, but I'll help you wash up, if that's alright."

Reid nodded, "That …would be so much better…" Reid just blushed as he realized what he was saying, but it was still true. "Uh… Hotch…Thanks for letting me stay here."

"It's the least I could do…"

Reid gave Hotch a glance, one that was equal parts confusion, nerves, and incredulous, "…You're not doing this because you feel guilty… are you…?"

"I do feel guilty, but that's not why I said you could stay here, Reid. I love you, right now you're in a tough spot, and I want to make it easier on you if I can. I've been there, I know very well what it's like to have the sanctity of…"

"Ah, right… um, we don't have to talk about that right now." Reid shifted a bit uncomfortably, he didn't think he could handle that conversation actually. It was strange for a string of words to be too much, but the baggage they brought with them… he just wanted to enjoy this kindness and not affiliate it with the way his apartment was defiled.

"Yeah, you're right. Reid, I want you here. You're welcome here as long as you want to be, and that extends to after you feel up-to-par."

Reid smiled faintly, "I'd really like that… Hotch… you… uh, Aaron, you know I love you too, right?"

Hotch smiled. "I had my suspicions."

Reid nodded, "Okay, as long as we both know."

TBC.


End file.
